Mutual Benefaction
by Dancing Fiyero
Summary: Well, here's a new one: RENTXMen. I know. But try it. Mark is hired to interview one of the biggest figureheads in America: Warren Worthington III.
1. The Interview : 1

Mutual Benefaction

**a/n:Well... sigh I must say, when this was first proposed to me, I tried to scratch my own ears off...But then it started to make sense. I'm not a big crossover fan, but hey. This works - sorta. And it's amusing (well, it was amusing to write). Most credit goes to Malkin, who put this all together after we created and wrote it. For the links to the rest of the blogs, check out my profile.**

_Quick note- my Warren is NOT the young, American one of Ultimate comics and the new movie. He's a business man; much less wishy-washy than X3. And he ain't American. Technically this occurs after X2, but is sort of a movie/comic hybrid combined with my personal X-Men stuff, where Jean has come back from being Phoenix and all important characters are still alive. There's also more kids at the Mansion who weren't included in the movie (most of them are the teenagers of the Evolution series). In terms of Rent, this would probably be less than a year after Angel's death/the end of the musical (or movie). Also, we took slight artistic liberty in Mark working for Buzz Line again to pay the bills. That's it for technicalities! Enjoy!_

**------The Interview (Part One)------**

Mark enters the office with trepidation. He's been let in by the secretary, an overly flamboyant man by the name of Jason. The office space itself is larger than he expected, but it could just be the decor. High ceilings, dusty blue walls off-set with high wooden panels, it looks like every fancy office he had ever seen on TV. Fidgeting slightly, Mark lingers near the door, unsure of what to do. Maybe he should set up...or maybe he should simply wait until Mr. Worthington finds it appropriate to grace him with his presence. Glancing at his watch, he sees that it's three minutes past their arranged meeting time.

He waits a few more minutes, shifting from foot to foot. The office isn't like Joanne's at Legal Aid, or any of the Executive Offices at Buzzline. It's a relatively small room with large windows, and a small desk, in front of which is a half-moon table, but it seems cleaner and starker. There are a few black and white photographs on the wall, but they seem to be there merely as a message. Obligatory Art. Mark wonders if Worthington even knew who took the pictures.

"Mr. Cohen?"

Enter Warren Worthington the Third: A tall young man, who looks like they wouldn't have to do any airbrushing to put him on a magazine cover. His hair is already perfectly in place, and with big, blue eyes, and high cheekbones, Mark finds himself jealous of the man's genetics. He's in a black, fitted suit with grey pinstripes and a pastel pink tie that belies something more than a snooty businessman. He stands stiffly, but his smile is one of genuine ease, as though his posture and his personality aren't quite in-sync.

"Mr. Cohen. Please take a seat," he says, his impeccable upbringing as one of Society's Elite comfortably displayed.

Mark extends a hand, still feeling very much out of his depth. "Mark," he corrects the young heir, not used to the formalities. "Look...I don't have much time to do this, so should we just get started?"

"Of course." Worthington replies, lip twitching towards a smile. Mark wants to ask what he finds so amusing, but refrains. It's probably the Boho filmmaker struggling with his over-sized camera bag in the middle of his office that Worthington's getting a giggle out of. Suddenly in a foul mood, Mark sets the camera on its tripod as Worthington takes a seat behind the desk.

"Ready?" he asks, fiddling with the many knobs on this newer brand of camera. He would much prefer working on his own 16mm, but Alexi has insisted that they look as professional as possible. Good impression first, she had reminded him.

Worthington nods and Mark takes this as his cue to start rolling. Warren was previously briefed by Alexi on the premise of the Interview, or at least he acts like he was, which is good enough for Mark. He puts on his filmmaker voice, speaking from behind the camera.

"The Dark Secret Behind Worthington Industries: Just What Is The Heir of the Worthington Fortunes Hiding?" He narrates. A look of displeasure registers on the Billionaire's face. Mark looks at him with a shrug, still a little on edge. "Hey, I don't write, I just film."

Worthington fixes him with a look. "Well, your film content is questionable," he says lightly, before adding, "both in validity and sanity."

Mark sighs; he does not need this right now. Not after the flack Collins had given him for taking this assignment in the first place. He just barely made it out of the apartment with all his limbs when Tom found out that Mark was going to film for one of the "big-bads" of America, as Collins called them. He turns off the camera. There's no use in wasting so much film.

"Look," he says, leveling his gaze with the man behind the desk. "I didn't ask to interview you. In fact, I don't really like interviewing people. I'm a documentarian."

"Well, I'm open to skipping it altogether." Worthington retorts coolly, and Mark's temper flares.

"I would be too." Mark tells him, "But I need the paycheck." Warren gives him a challenging look, something gleaming in the eyes that Mark is starting to think are _too_ blue. Mark sighs. This is not the point. Alexi will have him taken out and killed in new and imaginative ways if he doesn't come back with something good.

"Look, don't you get interviewed all the time?" He asks, exasperated. Maybe he just needs to get the young heir warmed up.

Worthington looks at him again. "I've had a particularly bad week," he says, his tone clearly questioning his need to justify this, "and generally the content involves flattering my father's business, or giving hints of our future plans. My...personal life is not usually covered," he adds. Silently, Warren's glad Mark hadn't just leaned over the desk and asked for a check right there. Not enough people had the stature of morality to brush off the idea of money over film content.

Mark sighs once more, thinking longingly of quitting Buzzline again and working on his own films. "All you have say is "I have nothing to hide," he supplies, fiddling with the camera's focus.

Worthington concedes with a sigh. "Fair enough." He pauses, adjusting his suit jacket. Mark notices that he hadn't unbuttoned until now, and watches as he does so almost reluctantly, eyes dropping to his lap to hide a flinch before looking back at Mark with the same detached cool as before.

"Let's get this over with," Worthington sighs, and Mark turns the camera back on.

"Mr. Worthington, is it true that you've denied rumors that you're horribly deformed." Might as well get to the point, Mark thinks, looking up to see how horrified Worthington looks with the question.

No emotion registers on his interviewee's face.

"That's a rather harsh phrase, don't you think? I was born with a slight spine deformity, which the doctors warned my parents could lead to severe nervous system damage if it was not carefully monitored. I'm forced to wear braces to try and keep it in the back of my mind, but I assure you it has no immediate effects."

Mark is impressed, the answer is well rehearsed, but it's not what he's looking for. He turns the camera off once more and leans in over the camera. "Maybe we don't have a good understanding," he ventures. "I only have about a minute to get this point across."

"What point would that be?" Worthington shoots back.

"That you are or aren't horribly disfigured." Mark tells him. Frankly he's sick of skirting around the truth. He wants to finish this up and get out of here.

Worthington nods. He adjusts himself in his seat, ready to try again as Mark's pager goes off in his belt. Immediately Mark opens his mouth to scold the sound with a firm Take Your AZT, but then he remembers where he is. He pulls the beeper off his jeans and turns the sound off.

"Can I use your phone," he asks, embarrassed that he has yet to scrape the money together for a cell phone.

"Oh-- yes." Worthington replies, as if used to shedding formalities and what Mark has asked is not strange at all. He pulls the cell phone off his belt, moving a little slowly as he bend to the side to grab it, and tosses it to Mark. Mark grins sheepishly as he catches it and dials the loft.

Per usual, they're screening their calls and Mark is forced to leave a message, "Hey, Rog, It's me. You need to get up for Band Practice, and all three of you need to take your," he lowers voice so that Worthington can't overhear, "AZT." It's clear that no one there is willing to pick up, so he ends the call and hands the phone back to it's owner. Worthington raises an eyebrow at him, but says nothing.

Mark restarts the camera once more and hopes that it is the last time. "So, one more time. Mr. Worthington, is it true that you've denied rumors that you're horribly deformed."

This time Worthington gets it right. "Yes, it is." Mark sighs in relief and tries to remember what his next question was suppose to be. Having trouble recalling it, he decides to improvise. "Why did you deny these rumors initially?"

"I found them an unnecessarily cruel personal attack, that was completely irrelevant to every aspect of my work and my family's business."

Mark smiles slightly. The familiar tingle that accompanies a good interview floods his senses. "Has your mutation ever affected your work?"

Worthington pauses, looking just a little thrown. "Mutation?"

Mark corrects himself. "Deformity. Mutation sounds---catchier." This seems to satisfy Worthington and he recomposes himself quickly.

"Although I would hardly call a minor spinal defect a mutation, no, it has no immediate or prominent effects on my work, and I doubt it ever will." This line of questioning has obviously grown stale, so Mark switches paths.

"Is it true that you've become a social hermit in recent years because of it?"

"I've chosen to withdraw from most of the common social on-goings in the public eye because I find them frivolous and unimportant by comparison to my other obligations. Like my work." There's something almost angry in Worthington's stupidly blue eyes, but he keeps his cool.

Mark raises an eyebrow. "But I thought you were just a figurehead," he says, remembering all the articles on Worthington that had been strewn across the floor of the loft when the millionaire and his practices had flitted across Collin's radar.

"Mostly," Worthington confirms, "although lately I've been focusing much of my attention on trying to conduct research concerning the Mutant community, to find what type of market they present and what their social and political interests entail. My father likes to think that my family blood is finally starting to show."

But Mark isn't paying attention, he's more caught up on something that Worthington's just said, and interrupts him. "Mutant community...but didn't you just say--" Worthington cuts him off.

"That I have no mutation?" He smiles, and Mark thinks it looks enigmatic. "My interest is purely professional, and performed on the half of Worthington Industries. I took the matter into my own hands our of sheer personal interest." His smile fades quickly and he looks at Mark in a way that throws him off. "I don't think I need to explain the difference between a birth deformity and the inheritance of the Mutant gene?" Mark's not buying it.

"What does mutation have to do with your corporation?" Worthington's smile returns, in a politely corporate way. Mark's glad he's expressive, since he's barely moved since the camera started rolling, and doesn't seem to be the gesturing type.

"They pose a large potential market. Worthington Industries is always looking to potential customers and meeting their commercial needs." Rather than quenching Mark's curiosity, the answer ignites it.

"But haven't you stated on many occasions that Mutants deserve equal rights, and that they need no special treatment."

"Precisely. It's all the negative coverage their community is receiving from the media that needs some sort of counter- a positive voice and reaffirmation that despite their differences, they have virtually the same needs as anyone else. Hence the ultimate point of my research." Nothing Mark says seems to have thrown Worthington for a loop. It's starting to piss him off, so Mark tries harder. He wants to see Worthington squirm, and not just because Collins will love him forever if he does.

"But---why would you target mutants if you want to prove they have the same needs as regular mutants? By creating a special part of your marketing scheme you're separating them and portraying the message that it's all right to label them as those with different needs."

Worthington leans forward ever so slightly, well aware of the camera, and keeping his gaze perfectly to the side of it. Mark has to admit; he knows what he's doing.

"The study I'm performing is surveying the needs of the mutant community, in an overall attempt to provide solid evidence that they don't require 'special' or 'different' treatment, although they may be fighting harder than your average American for their equality. On the business side, if there do prove to be any marginal differences in their commercial needs, it can be utilized by my father's corporation." Mark smiles, satisfied that he's caught him.

"So really you're performing this study so you can find the one way being a mutant can profit you."

Anger briefly crosses Worthington's face.

"I'm really performing the study to find how we can benefit mutants," he says levelly.

"And in turn benefit yourself." Mark pushes.

"As the case may be. An unfortunate yet unavoidable aspect of being involved with the business world."

Mark is floored. Once again, Worthington has backed him into a corner, and he casts about for another question.

"Is it true that you dated Dr. Jean Grey, a known mutant, in the past?"

"Yes, when we were recently out of high school." Apparently this little tidbit doesn't count as an invasion of his privacy, or he's finally caught Worthington off-guard. Or it's already been let out.

"Did you know she was a mutant at the time?"

"I was aware of it, yes."

"So, is it safe to say that your study on the mutant community is being done because you still hold a flame for her?"

Again, Worthington looks displeased, and adjusts in his chair marginally, something like a wince ghosting across his features. Mark wonders if he's finally made him uncomfortable.

"Not at all. Dr. Grey and I remain good friends, but there is no romantic interest left," Warren finally replies confidently.

"Is it true you also dated her husband?" Mark asks, smirking. That had taken a bit of digging on Collins part, but it seemed that Worthington had quite the past to be elaborated. Or fabricated. Mark wasn't quite sure.

"No." Worthington answers calmly, before continuing. "Mr. Summers and I were also close friends, and remain such. I am quite happy for Jean and Scott."

"Is it true that you privately fund the school in which Ms. Grey conducts most of her research?"

"Any funding I give would be done publicly." He sounded clipped, and Mark didn't buy it. He could recognize a legally obligatory technicality when he heard one.

"It's been said that Dr. Grey attended a private High School in Westchester. If you dated her, did you go there as well?"

"Jean and I did not attend the same High School, I attended a boarding school in Britain, and moved to the United States shortly after my graduation with my family."

But Mark is looking past him now. During the last exchange a feather had fallen from somewhere and landed on the floor by the front of Worthington's desk. "What's that?" Warren reacts as coolly as if it's just the next interview question.

"It appears to be a feather." Worthington replies, in a tone that reminds Mark of when he asked Roger what the white powder in the Ziploc bag was.

---------


	2. The Interview : 2

**------The Interview (Part Two)------**

"What's that?"

"It appears to be a feather," Worthington replied, as Mark leaned down to pick it up.

"But where'd it come from?" Mark asks, putting it on the desk. He doesn't see anything particularly feathery about...but there's another feather lingering under the desk. "There's another one!"

Worthington picked the first feather up, twirled it between his fingers, mild amusement the only emotion registering on his features.

"How bizarre," he muses, looking at the feather quizzically. "I have no idea where it came from."

Mark's not buying it. He starts on another edgy road for the interview. "It's been said that you have wings..."

Worthington laughs whole-heartedly. "Yes, and I've heard the president is concealing a long, curly tail."

"Really?" Mark is suddenly very glad he kept the camera on.

Worthington is smiling genuinely now, and it offsets Mark again. "Not to mention the Governor of California can transform himself into a little moth at every new moon, and the Defense Minister is an alien." Worthington clearly knows how to divert attention, and the genuine smile is turning a little smug.

As amusing as this is, Mark is once again frustrated and starts over, trying to get the interview back on track.

"What do you think about recent speculations that AIDS was the first sign of the Mutant Epidemic."

"I think it's a ridiculous claim, that people made in order to try and rationalize mutation into being the result of a disease that they've had time to start accepting as part of the world." Worthington jumps right back in to his diplomatic skin as quickly as Mark can come up with questions, but Mark has to snort.

"No one accepts AIDS as part of their world."

"Maybe not personally, but as a society we have dismissed AIDS as an unfortunate disease that sometimes strikes, much like cancer. Mutation is still new, shocking, and people aren't able to cope with that." Mark has to admit, he might be right.

"So, you think that the hype about Mutation will go away when something new and scary comes along."

"Yes."

"So I guess what you really want to be researching is what is the next big scary thing."

Warren smiles softly, and it's clear why he's the face of Worthington Industries as he manages to look charming even through his sarcasm.

"If we did that, we'd have time to do nothing else."

Mark's smile is bitter.

"Yeah, but it's nice not to have the big scary in your backyard." He leans over and turns off the camera, satisfied. "So tell me really, why did you get involved in Mutant Rights, entirely off camera."

"Because I find their mistreatment appalling."

Mark gives him a look. "No one is as active as you are for Mutant Rights without having a personal reason. Trust me, I speak from experience."

"I imagine you do," Worthington concedes. "Truthfully, and entirely off-camera," he pauses, but has apparently already made his personal judgment about Mark and continues. "I have personal connections to the mutant community I will not disclose."

Mark stops himself just short of rolling his eyes. "Yeah, Jean Grey and her husband-- I just meant---" Mark pauses in the same way, and decides to return the trust. "Look, can I tell you something?"

"Of course." Warren unclasps his hands as a sign of secrecy.

"Someone dropped off anonymous photos of someone who looks like you with wings. Personally, I think its photoshopped, but there are people who say that its just too realistic looking." Worthington looks slightly uncomfortable, but his corporate mask is still firmly in place.

"Do you have them?"

"In my bag. My friend's a computer genius and said he'd look at them. He swears that it's the real thing too, something about pixel variants."

"May I see them?"

"They're just the photocopies. Alexi has the originals hidden somewhere. Probably in a vault," he jokes, but Worthington looks displeased.

"Hm." He ponders for a second, then cocks his head at Mark. "Is it possible for me to obtain all the copies?"

Mark looks nervous. "I don't know how many are in circulation. I mean from what I've heard they've sent it everywhere. I know 20/20 has a copy. Alexi was fighting with them for rights to your exclusive interview."

Worthington shifts again, looking a little queasy. Mark's starting to feel guilty for bringing it up. He started off the interview with a great dislike for the man, but something about Worthington's answers hinted at political beliefs a little too much like Mark's...And the worried look in his face made Worthington look like a five year old caught with something he shouldn't have.

"Do you have a list of who else they were sent to?"

"No-- but I'd guess every major New York news source." For a second, Mark recognizes a sinking nauseous feeling in Worthington's expression, before it is quickly covered.

"Hm." Warren repeats, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Excuse me for a moment?" He asks, and without waiting for an answer picks up the phone and dials something. Mark just shifts uncomfortably and fiddles with the camera, which Worthington eyes suspiciously as if he's about to turn it back on.

"Hello? Yes. Have you heard? No. I'm here with an interviewer, and he's...told me of a few unfortunate things. No, pictures. I'm not sure. No, but we need to find out. Yes. I'll try- Thank you Hank." He hangs up and looks at Mark again, fingers folded under his chin.

"Hank McCoy?" Mark asks, glad for a change of topic. Worthington nods curtly.

"He's been helping me with my research." He says as means of explanation. "May I see the copies you have?" He demands politely.

"Sure." Mark says, reaching for the copies in his bag. The first is a picture of Warren, standing slightly turned away from the camera with Scott and Jean. He's clearly enjoying himself, dressed in swim trunks. His wings are extended at strange angles, which mirror his hand motions. The second photo is one of him in a relaxed suit and tie affair with his wings wrapped around Hank and Jean. He looks to be just out of high school.

Worthington sighs, examining the pictures, then grabbing the phone again, this time he covers the mouthpiece slightly and turns his chair away. Mark falls silent to listen.

"Rebecca- It's me. Yes. I need you to call all the major news stations. No, I don't care. Tell them if they run the pieces, we'll cut funding to- No. What? All right, then tell them we'll run the government piece. Yes, that one. It's supposed to be a threat, Becky. Yes, under my authorization. Yes. Call me back." He hangs up and looks at Mark with an alarmingly sinister look.

---------


	3. New Opportunities

**------The Interview (Part Two)------**

Mark returns the sinister look with one that clearly reads. "What did I do?"

"I'm afraid we may have to cut this interview short- nothing personal, I assure you—" Worthington starts, but Mark cuts him off.

"What government piece." Warren looks at him, clearly annoyed at being interrupted, but humors the filmmaker after casting a glance at the camera to ensure the absence of the red recording light.

"An expose I had a few of my people run when I came across a few non-disclosure cases the government used to cover up issues of mutant discrimination and assaults. The information was released to the press in the past, but the government paid them off not to run the piece. All of the papers accepted the bribe, and continued to publish anti-mutant sentiments as the government dictated." Mark is surprised Worthington would tell him this much, but gets the feeling he wouldn't have if it could be dangerous. Worthington shifts in his seat, looking anxious and impatient. Mark knows he's not welcome any longer, and packs his stuff to head for the door.

He pauses on the way. "So tell me, are the pictures real?"

Worthington clenches his hands, and then holds one up. It seems as though he's come to some sort of internal decision. "Hold on. Let's continue."

Mark turns around and nearly drops his tripod. "What?"

"I'm not going to just hide from this." Worthington now seems to be talking to himself. He looks back up at Mark and gestures for him to sit back down. "Let's continue the interview, and I encourage you to bring up the pictures in case they're released."

"Alright." He resumes his seat and pulls the camera back out. "Where would you like to start?" He can sense that whatever Worthington has to say will be a breakthrough for them both. It makes his stomach tingle.

Worthington shrugs, still lost in self-reflection. "Wherever you see fit."

Mark gives him a half smile and turns the camera on, this time forgoing the tripod for one of his signature hand-held shots. "Close-up on Warren Worthington the Third, Heir to the Worthington fortune. Mr. Worthington, what do you have to say about the allegations that you're part of the Mutant Community?"

Worthington adjusts himself to sit up a little straighter, his public-enchanting smile replaced by a clenched jaw and clearly displeased glare. "I find it a surprisingly new low for the media. The accusation and the truth or falsity notwithstanding, the news has no place in the private lives of anyone. I find it outrageous and offensive that something like this would be released with the sheer intent of discrediting me with something that is completely irrelevant to my work." His jaw is clenched, and Mark almost feels sorry for the press. Almost. And maybe it's the feeling of the camera in his hands, but he feels something as he films this. The tingle gets a little stronger with excitement.

"But this has occurred in our society before, don't you think? This happened in the mid 90s with the AIDS crisis. People were being accused of carrying a supposedly airborne disease, which with further research was found to only be transferable through very few sources. Both your associates, Dr. McCoy and Dr. Grey, have compared AIDS to Mutation. Do you agree?"

"I agree in the effects it has the society around it, more in the social than health implications. Both are being used as a device for fear by the government and news agencies, in order to bend the public to their will, depending on who they like from week to week."

"Do you feel that its right for you to be called a mutant because of the friends you keep?"

"I feel it's rather ridiculous."

"Its been speculated that if you had a mutation it would have developed because of your relationship with Jean Grey." They're on a roll.

"Mutation cannot 'develop' by interacting with someone any more than you can get blue eyes by looking at a blue-eyed person." If that were true, Mark's sure he'd would have insanely blue eyes by the end of this. "It's genetically impossible. Mutation is caused by a gene that is either present at birth, or not. People have no choice in it."

Mark smiles. "I see you've committed a lot to the research of this topic."

Worthington shakes his head. "All the knowledge I've expressed so far is easily attainable by anyone who wants to know the truth of the subject. It's just not very well publicized."

"Have you read Xavier's Theory of Evolution?" Mark says, recalling the large red book Collins left on their kitchen counter a few weeks prior.

"I can't say I'm very familiar with it." The answer seems a little halting. Mark is surprised.

"Its a re-examination of Darwin's theory to include the new research about Homo Sapien Superior. Dr. McCoy is listed as a contributor as well as Dr. Grey, I'm surprised that you haven't heard of it."

Worthington backtracks. "I didn't say I haven't heard of it. I'm just not incredibly familiar with it."

"I'm sorry, I just assumed that being such an advocate on the topic that you would have read what is called the most important essay on this topic."

Worthington levels Mark with a fierce glare, and Mark wonders how many business men have balked under that look. "You seem rather interested in the subject yourself, Mr. Cohen "

"I just know that when something catches my interest, I read everything I can get my hands on, positive and negative. And please, call me Mark, Mr. Cohen is my father."

Worthington is still looking directly at him, temporarily ignoring the camera. "Well, Mark," he says. "What's your take on the current mutant uprising? You've expressed your interest and involvement in other issues. "

"I don't know much, just what my friend has told me. I do understand that it's DNA passed on or evolved. I know it's not contagious and very rarely effects more than someone's outward appearance--" he pauses. "I understand that people are afraid of 'mutants' walking though walls or killing them with a look, but I don't find them anymore threatening than if they had a gun or a heroine needle."

Worthington nods at him to continue.

"If you're asking if you know the science behind it, or the theories, I don't. I'm just a filmmaker. I understand that everyday, some kid wakes up different, having changed into something they can't control, but I guess...I guess it's like having a big banner saying I'M GAY superglued to you so you can never hide it."

"Another 'Big Bad' that has a nasty habit of just showing up on people's doorsteps." Worthington murmurs.

This boils Mark's blood as images of Angel flicker behind his eyes. "Being gay shouldn't change anything."

"It changes your sexual prefrence. Or at least brings it out to air." Worthington says nonchalantly.

Mark shakes his head. "I live in the East Village, in Alphabet City. Everyone is gay."

Worthington smiles at him coyly. " I grew up in London. Everyone was closeted."

"That's what my friend, Collins, always says." Mark starts before he can stop himself. " He was going to move there before---" he stops short, lost in a sudden tidal wave of memories.

"Before...?" prompts Worthington.

He's not even really aware of what he's saying. "Before he met the love of his life right here..."

"How fortunate for him."

"It was. When they met, he had just been mugged and was bleeding to death in some alleyway---" he smiles again and shakes his head slightly. "But we're getting off topic. Where were we?"

"I'm not entirely sure." he pauses, looking a little concerned at the beginning of Mark's story. " We were discussing the so-called 'photographs'."

"Right. The one this I noticed was how personal they looked. I mean it would be one thing to show an image of you at a press conference, but these..."

"Well I suppose if you're going to launch an attack on someone you should do it on as much of a personal and convincing level as possible. if if it were to show me at a press conference, people would hardly believe them as much as they would with these candid shots."

"So are these actually your personal photos?"

Worthington nods.

"So this isn't only an attack on your image, but on your privacy as well." Mark says.

"As I said, I find this appaling and offensive."

"Who do you think could have gotten a hold of such private property?"

"Unfortunatly I would assume it was someone close to me, and I assure you I will find them. I have no doubt in that." He says, leaning ever so slightly closer to the camera.

"Will you press charges?"

"Yes, heavily. Not only against whoever submitted and manipulated these photos, but against the media that runs them." Mark felt his stomach flip. Worthington Industries had the most notorious and ruthless lawyers known to man-- Buzzline wouldn't survive that kind of attack. He'd have to talk to Alexi.

"Do you feel that it was ever a mistake to make your relationships with Dr. McCoy and Dr. Grey public?"

"It was not entirely my choice to make the matters public. As you've witnessed, the media seems to have its nose in all aspects of my personal and professional life. I do not regret it though, both of them are talented, intelligent individuals that I'm proud to call friends."

Mark turns the camera off. "Alright, I think I have enough."

Worthington smiles. "I'm glad." He buttons his suit jacket as he stands, faltering slightly, which forces him to quickly put a hand down on the desk infront of him with a small grimace. He recovers quickly and makes to move round the desk to shake Mark's hand. "Thank you."

Mark, use to people collapsing around him, rushes to close the space between them and lend a hand. "Are you alright?"

Worthington's already regained his calm, and nods. "Yes, I'm fine, is there anything else you need for your piece?"

"I don't think so. I have to tell you, you're one of the more eloquent interviews I've had the 'pleasure' of doing while at Buzzline."

"Thank you. Well you have my number, feel free to call if there's anything else." He gestures to the door with an arm which only raises about 45 degrees from his side.

Mark looks at him suspiciously. "Are you sure you're alright, I have some extra-strength Advil in my bag."

"No- thank you." Worthington insists. " I appreciate the concern, but I'm just a little stiff from sitting for most of the the day. Would you like me to show you the way out?"

"No, I think I can find it." Mark turns to leave again, checking his watch. "I hate to ask again, but can I use your phone again?"

"Yes of course." Worthington digs into his pocket and extends the phone. Mark says nothing and dials the loft again, hoping this time they will pick up. Once again it rings through to the answering machine.

"Hey Collins, it's me. I finished up here earlier than I expected. If you still want to swing by the cemetary and put fresh roses on the grave, I should be there to come with you in 40 minutes. Roger, if you're there, LEAVE, or you'll be late. And Mimi make sure you call your mother..." he trails off and hangs up the phone, handing it back. "I really should get myself one of those."

"Wait until it's buzzing every three minutes. Do you need a ride anywhere?" Mark is taken aback by the offer.

"No, I was just going to bike back to the Lower East Side..."

"Are you sure? " Worthington suddenly pauses to consider something. Mark waits in the doorway, intrigued by the thoughtful look on the billionaire's face. Suddenly Warren turns back to his desk, speaking as he walks.

"Mr. Cohen--- Mark, I have a proposition for you," he pauses again. "How attached are you to working at Buzzline?" Mark is intrigued, and wonder what unnatural speed Worthington's brain runs at.

"About as attached as someone is to a leech sucking thier blood. I do it to pay the rent."

Worthington smiles, in an honestly excited way that intrigues Mark further. "Well," he opens a locked drawer and pulls out two pieces of paper and a pen, pushing them towards Mark. "I'd like you to make me a documentary."

Mark blinks. "A...what?" He gasps, and struggles to find his words. "But you haven't seen my work!"

"A documentary." Worthington repeats. "I've been a part of your work and heard your views, and that's enough for me as it stands." He gestures towards the papers again. "If you're interested, I can have you working for me within the hour."

"What would I be making it on?"

"I would pay you to make an expose on the governments exploitation of mutants. If I'm pleased with it, I'll give you all the funding you need to make and market a documentary on the impact of AIDS in our society. And of course, I'll pay you for your work. "

"I--um should call my lawyer." Mark stutters, dazed.

"Feel free."

"She works around here...in Coporate America."

"Perhaps you would like to read the terms of your employment?" Worthington suggests, pushing the documents towards Mark.

"Yes, reading good. I should call Joanne." Mark says again, flabbergasted.

"Ah, well I'm sorry to tell you this, but if you agree, I'll be providing you with a new lawyer."

"Oh, that's okay, I don't pay her. " He didn't mean for that to slip out, and blushes.

Worthington smiles, obviously amused, "Would you like to call her from my office, to save everyone the trip by her coming here?"

"This isn't your office...?"

"No, not at all. This is one of our private boardrooms. This way please." Worthington opens the door and herds Mark out into the expansive hall and down to the very end, where there is large wooden door with a gold plate bearing his name. Warren K. Worthington III. Mark wonders what it would be like to be the third person to have your own name. Warren's already opening the door, swiping his thumb over the pad beside it.

"My office," he says, gesturing as he opens the door to reveal a space slightly bigger than Mark's loft, with a large ornate desk, backed by a wall full of bay windows overlooking the city.

---------


	4. Paperwork

**------The Documentary (Part One)------**

Mark notices the pictures first. There's an impressive number, considering that this is an office. Ones of Worthington and Dr. Grey standing on a beach of some sort. Others of Dr. McCoy and Worthington in suits holding up various awards and drinks. There are others, of people who Mark doesn't recognize. A dark skinned woman in a fancy dress being dipped, various children peaking out from behind Worthington's back and a large photo of many of the children, plus several others taken in front of what looks to be a giant dormitory.

Mark smiles. Some of the children may have had strange physical deformities, but they all for the most part look happy. Slowly he processes the rest of the office. He's stunned by the decadence and by the view.

"This is...wow--" Suddenly Corporate America doesn't look so bad.

"Would you like anything?" Worthington asks, as he heads towards a mini fridge behind the large desk. He opens the glass cabinet and retrieves two glasses.

"Do you have an Stoli?" Mark asks, unable to think of another drink. The words have barely left his mouth when he remembers why he's there. Worthington has offered him a job. He's offered him money to make a social commentary documentary and then another. And he's going to pay him. He grins to himself and thinks about how much he can't wait to tell Collins...

Oh Shit, Collins.

_Do you know what Warren Worthington has done, Mark? _He hears Collins in his head, louder and clearer than he'd like. _He exploits people who are already downtrodden by society and he makes a profit from it. But that's not the worst part. _ He can see Collins taking a swig of Stoli in his mind's eye. _The worst part is that he tries to pretend to help them. And he's so damn charming he's got Dr. McCoy and Dr. Grey won over already. _

But the Worthington he's been talking to for the last hour doesn't seem to be doing this for his own benefit. Despite his corporate associations, he seems to genuinely be concerned about the issues surrounding Homo Sapien Superiors.

"I do." Worthington replies, pulling a bottle from the fridge and pouring a glass of scotch for himself as well. He hands the Stoli to Mark and sits down in a large chair which looks as if its been specially built to accommodate his back-brace. Mark sits heavily across from him and takes a large swig of his drink. "I should call Joanne," he repeats, having second thoughts.

Worthington pushes the black desk phone towards him, and presses the speaker phone button. Mark grins awkwardly and dials. He tries Joanne's office first and it flips to her away message, which prompts him to call her cell.

Worthington nods once more and Mark dials her cell.

_Ring, Ring._

"Hello?" Wherever Joanne is, it's clearly busy.

"Joanne?" Mark asks, not able to hear her too well over the...is that mooing? Worthington smiles a little, though he's clearly trying not to.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you- who is this?" she asks in a loud voice, which is made even louder by the fact that she's on speakerphone.

"It's MARK," he says as loudly as he dares.

"Mark?" she repeats, "Where are you, I thought we were all meeting for lunch at the Life."

"You're at the Life?" Mark asks, confused. "I thought we were doing lunch at the Life tomorrow."

"No, tomorrow I'm in court."

"But Roger has band practice," Mark says, unsure of how he could have forgotten this.

"It was cancelled. Where are you?" she repeats.

"I'm still on assignment with..." he pauses. If they're all at the Life he'd better watch what he's saying. "Is Collins there?"

Joanne sighs, and he can imagine the face she's making. "Of course he's here. EVERYONE is here. Say hi to Mark, everyone," she says, as if to prove her point. Mark cringes as everyone yells various salutations into the phone.

"Pookie, where are you?" It appears that Maureen has commandeered the phone.

"I'm filming Maureen." he says, noticing that Worthington seems plenty amused by his ex's nickname.

"Filming what?"

"An interview. Can you give Joanne the phone back, please." She sighs and he hears the phone change hands once more.

"What's up Mark?" Joanne asks.

"I need to ask for some legal advice."

Another sigh from Joanne. "What kind of trouble did you get yourself into this time."

"Not trouble, but I may have gotten another job."

"A job?" Joanne repeats. Mark can hear the others murmuring.

"Yeah, look, could you take this phone call outside?"

"Mark, I'm eating, I'm not going to get up and take your call, either what you have to say is very important and you can say it to me right now, or you can talk to me when you get here."

Mark sighs, Worthington is starting to look a little impatient and he really wants some advice. "Alright, I'll tell you now, but I need you to promise something."

"What?" now Joanne sounds unhappy.

"Whatever I say, no matter how much you want to react to it, don't repeat what I say." Mark instructs, and Worthington looks a tad confused, and eyes the phone warily.

Joanne sighs once more. "Just spit it out Mark, you're wasting my cell minutes."

"I'm still here at the Worthington Corporation..." he starts.

"Worthing---" Joanne stops mid-sentance, remembering what he said. "Keep going," she says evenly.

"Warren Worthington the third has offered to pay me to make a documentary on Mutant Exploitation."

"Mu---" This time Joanne catches herself faster.

Worthington is nudging a piece of paper towards him. On it is scribbled a sum which makes Mark's eyes go wide.

"He's willing to pay me--- is that $500,000?" he says, directing it more at Worthington than at Joanne.

"$500,000?" Joanne cries into the phone as Worthington nods.

"Who the hell is going to give Mark $500,000?" Maureen asks loudly.

"Warren Worthington..." Joanne replies before she realizes what she's done.

"Who?" Mark can hear Mimi now, followed by a glass being put back down on the table hard.

"Warren Fucking Worthington!" Warren starts, and Mark shuts both eyes and hopes something will happen and he can go back in time and not call Joanne to begin with. "Give me the phone," the same person shouts.

"Hey Collins." Mark says, his voice painfully high and his face red.

"You told me you hadn't taken that interview."

"Alexi---"

Collins cuts him off. "Alexi doesn't control you Mark, you could have said no."

"I'm behind on the medical bills Collins, she said she'd paid me double for this one. And he's offered me a job."

"Do I have to tell you about Warren Worthington, Mark?" Collins says, his voice taking on a professor like quality.

"No. I'm good," Mark replies sheepishly, trying to look apologetically at Worthington.

"As am I," Worthington mutters.

Collins isn't deterred at all. "He's the lowest yuppie scum there is. He's the Yoda to Benny's Luke Skywalker!"

"Yuppie scum?" Worthington says louder, offended.

"He exploits people who---who the hell was that?" Collins says, temporarily thrown from his anti-Worthington tirade.

"Warren Worthington---" Mark mutters. He's never felt ashamed of Collins before. He wonders if its the office or Corporate America, or if for once Collins is actually in the wrong.

"Well tell him that I think the fact that he exploits Homo Superiors is sick and twisted and that I hope he fucking becomes one." The phoneline goes dead. It appears that Collins has hung up.

Worthington is fuming. For a second Mark thinks he's going to get pushed out the window, or shot, or fired, or...something worse. But Warren sits back in the chair and takes several deep calming breaths. "Well," he says, through clenched teeth.

"I'm really sorry about Collins, I can leave if---"

Worthington holds up a hand.

"Do you still want your lawyer to look over the contracts?

Mark hesitates. "Yes."

"Then why don't we meet with her."

"Where?" Mark is suddenly questioning Worthington's sanity.

"Wherever they are..." Worthington says with a wave of his hands. He apparently isn't going to give up on this easily.

"The Life."

"The Life?"

Mark looks at him. He hasn't talked to a person who doesn't know about the life since he moved into the Loft years ago. "The Life Cafe, it's in the East Village." Worthington nods.

"But Collins---" Mark protests.

"I assure you, I'm more than capable of dealing with those of...more radically different opinions than my own." He stands, hitting a small buzzer which summons a man from another room which Mark hadn't noticed before. "I hope that this isn't going to be a problem for you."

"For me?" Mark manages to squeak. "You're the one who's going to die."

Worthington fixes him with a look. "Mark," he says seriously. "I've had people try to take my life for my opinions before, I doubt this is one of those cases."

"I'm not afraid he'll kill you," Mark confesses. "I'm more afraid he'll talk you to death."

Worthington smiles again, and Mark finds he's getting used to it. No matter what Collins says, that smile seems to be too genuine for Warren to be completely evil.

"Talk doesn't scare me," he assures Mark as he moves away from him and heads towards the door that the man appeared from. "Arthur will show you to the car, I'll join you momentarily." Warren straightened his suit jacket, nodding to the man in the doorway before slipping out through a small door beside him.

---------


	5. Introductions

**a/n - ** Hey all--sorry it took a while to update, but I'm glad to see the increasing interest in this insanity! Thanks for the reviews! (keep'em coming! Heh...) I promise to try for faster updates now that I'm OUT OF HIGH SCHOOL! w00t! Anywho, here's the next bit.

**------The Documentary (Part Two)------**

Maureen was the first to see the limo pull up to the curb. This in itself was strange, because no idiot would drive a limo in Alphabet City. It screamed 'rob me blind!'. But that wasn't the strangest part.

No, the strangest part was the fact that Mark got out of the car first.

Or rather, he got out after the driver held the door open for him.

Maureen blinked and nudged Mimi. She wondered briefly if she was beginning to see things as Mimi turned to look out the window as well.

"Jeeesus," Mimi murmured, leaning across Maureen to get a better look at the guy in a suit who'd followed Mark out of the limo. Damn, he was pretty. "Roger, look!"

But Roger was too busy watching Collins, who was also looking out the window. In fact, it seemed like the whole Cafe was staring at the limousine. Except Roger, because he was watching Collins turning redder and redder, like a kettle about to boil over.

Outside, Warren carefully unfolded himself from the limo behind Mark, standing with his hand resting delicately on the door and adjusting the knee-length wool coat he had adopted. He couldn't help but smile a little at the row of squashed noses on the inside of the glass, but kept it to himself.

Nodding to Mark, he stepped up onto the curb and Arthur sat back in the driver's seat, keeping the limosine parked where it was so he could watch through the window for any need to barge in the relieve Warren of the ongoings. Warren nodded in appreciation and slipped his hands into the pockets of his black coat.

Waiting for Mark's move, he followed the film maker into the restaurant, considering how to best conduct himself to raise as little attention as possible without seeming immediately conspicuous. Keeping a low profile, however, looked like it would be difficult given the crowd already staring. Warren bit the inside of his cheek. He hated these situations. At least with the press, they'd all seen him before, and just wanted his answers and photograph. People staring at him like some poisonous, exotic animal in a zoo that they admired and detested always made him uncomfortable and exceptionally self-conscious about what he was hiding. He tucked his coat closer around himself, trying to straighten up as much as possible without the leather harness hidden by his shirt starting to pinch.

The second Mark walked in the door he could feel the heat of dozens of eyes staring at him. It made him uncomfortable to be the center of attention. His hand travelled subconsciously to his camera bag, and he slipped it inside to habitually rub the cool metal of the camera.

He moved forward through the mock waiting area, passed the 'Please Wait To Be Seated' sign and smirked to himself as the waiters eyed him suspiciously but didn't say anything. It appeared that even here, far away from Corporate America, people knew who was with him. Making his way over to his friends' table, he smiled sheepishly at Maureen and Mimi, who's attention had snapped from the window back to him.

"Hey guys," he said, trying to sound as normal as possible. He unwound his scarf and set it down on top of the pile of coats slung over the empty chair at the end which had been clearly placed for him to occupy. Turning to Worthington he gestured to the group.

"Mr. Worthington, these are my friends," he introduced with a wave of his hand. Warren was met with a lot of blank, shocked stares and silence. "Say hi guys," Mark stage whispered to the silent table. Warren nodded to the stock still group, forcing a half-smile.

"Hello," he offered when they stayed silent, his lilted British accent seeming to resoundingly scream that he wasn't in his element. He could feel a few people staring at his back as he stood behind Mark, and self-consciousness struck full force again. Glancing over his shoulder, the looks quickly dispersed amoung guilty people. Warren shifted on his feet, clearing his throat a little and scanning Mark's friends. There was quite an array of them, including a bubbly woman with long hair who was the only one grinning at him- and she did so widely and flirtily, it seemed. Warren tried to ignore it. He knew when someone was smiling at his reputation more than his person.

The silence growing uncomfortable, Warren looked at Mark questioningly.

"Are introductions in order?" He asked, trying to sound as nonchalant and at ease as possible. Being in such heavily watched situation set him on edge, especially when he knew that the slightest slip-up could result in his untimely public demise.

"I'm Maureen!" The woman who had been smiling at Warren jumped up from the table, nearly upsetting all the drinks in the process. Warren jumped slightly, but took her hand and shook it with a wary smile. Maureen continued to shake his hand, tucking her hair behind her eye and practically batting her eyelashes at him. Warren tried not to smile in amusement at the display, but froze when Maureen started stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. It was apparent everyone at the table was watching them, and Warren tried to politely pull his hand back without making a scene of it, but Maureen seemed latched on. A dark-haired woman cleared her throat beside them, and to Warren's relief Maureen dropped his hand immediately and plopped back down into her seat. She didn't look the slightest bit bashful, but she slid her arm around the woman next to her.

"This is Joanne, my girlfriend." She introduced, and moved her hand behind Joanne to play with her hair. Joanne, quite aware that her girlfriend was flirting again, got up abruptly and held out a hand to Worthington.

"Joanne Jefferson, Mark's...lawyer." she said. Warren took the more professional handshake gratefully, and gave her a polite nod. "This is Mimi," Joanne continued, and pointed at the younger girl who was still staring unabashedly at him. "Roger," she said, pointing to the rockstar who had tentatively moved a hand out to shake.

"And Collins," Joanne added hesitantly, eyeing the anarchist with suspicion. Collins, it seemed, had gone still and had decided the best course of action was to kill Worthington with his world famous 'Professor Glare'.

Thankful for the distraction of Joanne standing up, Warren nodded to each of the people introduced in turn, taking Roger's outstretched hand as he came to it. The last man was glaring at him with loathing, and Warren could practically see the steam coming out of his ears from under his hat. He was, undoubtedly, the one who had yelled at them over the phone. Warren could tell it was expected that he would balk under the intense glare directed at him. Instead he was abruptly reminded of Scott giving his students a similar glare from under a ruby visor, and a grin nearly cracked through his composure.

"Pleased to meet you all," he noted, nodding especially to Collins with a genuine reserved smile. He met Collins' death glare for a moment, and the table buzzed with uncomfortable silence as Warren unwittingly initiated a challenge between them by holding the stare-down for a few seconds. Plucking his gaze away, he turned to Joanne. Collins shifted in annoyance.

"So, was there something you wanted me to look over?" She asked Resting his breifcase on the table, Warren retrieved the documents for Joanne.

"Yes- This is Mark's employment contract, and this is a...disclaimer." He decided, for lack of a better word. The document outlined the conditions of secrecy Mark was expected to uphold, and the measures allowed to be taken should be break the vow. Warren knew the wording of it wasn't exactly friendly, but he had weeded out many potential dangers to himself and the Mansion this way. Extending them to the lawyer, Warren inclined his head slightly in hesitation.

"These are intended to be--confidential." He cast a quick glance at the table around them, reconsidering passing out possibly dangerous materials in a public restaurant.

"Oh, pookie's always been good about intimacy," Maureen said with a wink, although it was unclear which particular 'pookie' she was refering to.

There was a long silence and Joanne scanned through the contents of the disclaimer carefully. "This is all rather---harsh." she said hesitantly, looking over the paper at Worthington. "Is all this really nessacary?"

Collins snorted, which startled everyone at the table. "Of course it's necessary Joanne." he said, his deep baritone voice surprisingly level. "Wouldn't want the Yuppie Scum's image ruined by the poor Bohemian filmmaker..."

"Collins." Roger warned quietly.

"No, Roger, don't back down. He's scum. He treats people who've been dealt a bad card like shit, and then exploits them for it." Warren cleared his throat, although he wasn't sure whether he was doing it defensively or warningly.

"I know it seems over-the-top, but we'll be dealing with the personal lives of many people whose secrecy deserves to be kept." He answered Joanne calmly, then looked with equal calm at Collins. "I have no concerns about my image being ruined by Mark- he seems like a talented, inspired young man. This is simply a precaution I take with many of my employees to protect against the betrayl of trust you so often hear about in the corporate world." He adjusted again, clasping his hands in front of him, his amusement and anger at Collins' accusation of exploitation battling. He settled for silence momentarily, not wanting to emotionally let something slip in his own defense. He had bigger secrets and issues to uphold than his personal emotional pride when it came to the issue of mutants. Joanne nodded and refered back to the contract.

"It says here that Mark cannot reveal anything he learns to outside sources until after the documentary has aired, and then, only with approval from yourself and your legal team. Does that refer to anyone or just the pre---" she was cut off mid-sentence by Collins who'd abruptly stood up.

"Does it feel good," he asked, "being down here with the lower beings, pretending not to be so different than us? Is that why you're hiring him? Because he seems like a talented young man, while you're a yuppie scum who's never gonna have to do anything more than sit back and wait to inherit Daddy's business?"

"Collins." Joanne all but barked. "I'm sorry about him Mr. Worthington,"

Warren took a long breath, looking down at the floor for a second with a clenched jaw. Looking back up, eyes a little darker with anger, Warren addressed Joanne with a deadly calm, pointedly overlooking Collins. He decided it was probably for everyone's best if he tried to avoid engaging with Collins, lest they tear eachother apart.

"It refers to anyone, for security reasons. Obviously there are, however, others who have agreed to this contract that Mark will be free to discuss things with." Warren caught a glimpse of Collins out of the corner of his eye as he looked at Joanne, and he seemed to be fuming harder at his lack of response. Shifting on his feet once more, Warren bit the inside of his cheek to keep his urge to start a verbal war with Collins down. It wouldn't be the first time he'd fought for his views, and a yelling match of verbal insults and body language was surprisingly nothing new to Warren. He couldn't count the times he had nearly broken his end of a table smashing his fist down on it as he shouted at one or more members of a boardroom table. His authority was always challenged for being the result of nothing but his blood--or it was, until he had disintegrated any remaining opposition. And a few tables.

"We will assign Mark with a new legal lawyer should anything arise that he requires one--" he gave Joanne a small, warm smile, "nothing personal, of course. Unfortunatly this is a very sensitive topic that has many times fallen into the wrong hands." He cast a glance at Mark, thinking about the pictures in the film maker's bag. Reminded again of the close proximity of his surroundings, he shifted the turn his back a little farther from Collins defensively. Joanne nodded and then looked at Mark.

"Can I talk to you a second?" she asked, tilting her head towards the door that led to the alleyway behind the Cafe. "Privately?"

Mark nodded. "It'll just take a second," he said to Worthington, slipping the camera bag off his shoulder and placing it on the table. "Be nice," he said, turning to Collins who was fuming harder than Mark had ever seen him. Joanne too threw Collins a look as she and Mark weaved their way through the cafe and out the back to talk.

Warren nodded, watching Joanne and Mark slip into the alleyway. He looked back at the table, giving Maureen a small smile in hopes of starting a conversation that wouldn't focus on Collin's views on 'Yuppie scum' and the corporate world.

Maureen smiled back at Warren and patted the chair that Joanne had originally occupied. "Come and sit down," she said, with a dazzling smile. "I won't bite---unless you ask." She thought it was nice that there was someone new to talk to. Collins had been going on and on since Mark's call about the evils of society in general, particularily those outside the East Village, and no one had heard the end of it. Maureen had thought about doing a protest for a while, but then news of an animal rights violation within a big clothing company had redirected her attention.

"So, what exactly do you do for a living? I mean I know you're rich and awful famous, but what exactly do you do?" She asked, trying to sidle up to Warren even when he declined to sit down.

This was going to be a bad topic, he could tell.

"Well," Warren decided for the formal approach. "I'm head of the public relations department within Worthington Industires, and I deal with the press and anything to do with them. I also deal with the corporate image the company upholds, and a little more informally I'm a project manager. When my father retires," He looked pointedly at Collins before continuing, a hint of ire in his voice, "he has asked me to take over as head of the Corporation." Warren didn't fully intend to, not without hiring people to help, and he didn't really look forwards to spending every waking moment being a snide, cut-throat businessman, but his father had strictly informed him to keep his doubts entirely private. Just like he was supposed to do with his mutation.

"See Collins," Maureen chided, "none of that horrible exploitation and unfair treatment you were talking about is his fault."

Collins glared at her. "Maureen," he replied, his tone descending into one he rarely used outside his lecture halls. "Being the head of public relations means that he decides what the press see and hears about. So all the exploitation and unfair treatment may not be generated _by_ him, but he's the scumbag that covers it all so only the chosen few of us who know to look past the corporate lies and trickery can find out the real truth. Those studies that he does," Collins continued, pretending to forget that Worthington was actually sitting there, "those are there to hide the truth. If they look like they're doing good, no one'll suspect that he's got a sweatshop full of mutant children working for him at some disclosed location."

Warren rounded on him, arms coming up from his pockets to rest his knuckles on the table in front of him.

"Mutant children?" He growled, taking a step forwards to loom over Collins. "And what exactly would they be doing for me? Signing my papers? For someone who seems to have his own claim to fame being anti-authority and pro-everyone, you certainly are quick to make assumptions and accusations. Do you really think mutant rights figures like Dr. Grey and Dr. McCoy would associate in the slightest with a company, let alone the person apparently responsible for keeping children locked up in factories? Or do you just choose to discredit people when it serves your purpose?" Worthington spat, eyes flaring. Collins had clearly struck a nerve. Images of the kids in the mansion who had come in from families that beat them, or kicked them onto the street after finding out who they were, and his own not-quite-so unfortunate but painful family dealings, surfaced in Warren's mind, and one fist clenched exceptionally, drawing back slightly. Thankfully, a small logical part of his business brain kicked back in, and the headline "Son of Worthington Industries in bar brawl with Bohemian Professor" flashed before his eyes. He recoiled his fist, although it remained tightly clenched, and Warren could feel his wings twitch in utter annoyance and anger, trying to reflect his emotions from under restraints. He shook himself off a little to cover it, adjusting his coat, jaw clenched.

Collins paused momentarily, but never the man to backdown he stood up and was eye level with Worthington. "Doctors Grey and McCoy?" he asked scathingly. "Do you even really know them? Or are they just names you toss around in order to cover up your real opinions about Homosapien Superiors." He leaned in closer to Worthington, a glint in his eye, continuing before Warren could respond.

"I'm only supportive of those who truly need support. Don't pretend to understand. You have never and will never understand what it's like to be someone like me, like those people your company exploits." Warren stiffened. He felt like he was seeing red. Well, this ignorant man certainly knew how to piss people off, and Warren couldn't believe how nearly incoherent with fury he was. Trying to pull himself back together and not do something drastic, he took a quick deep breath.

"Jean and Hank are both very close friends of mine, who I continue to work with despite the requests of my father and his business to terminate the relationships." He ground out. He leaned in equally to Collins, lips pulling back in something close to a snarl as he continued.

"I have done everything in my power to help where I can. The issues your 'in-depth analysis' of my morals is overlooking are the fact that I have no need to exploit children, of any sort, and that I willingly give millions yearly to whatever cause I can, so long as I'm assured it goes to good use." Warren managed to sound harsh and fierce even while talking about charity, the burning desire in his mind to take off his jacket and unfurl his wings looking annoyingly appealing. He would strip off the restraining straps and probably knock over the dishes on the bar with his wingspan that could easily encompass most of the restaurant. And he'd do it just to see the look of absolute shock on the man's smug face.

"Money doesn't do any good." Collins said, fuming. "Where was your fucking money when that girl died on the NYC campus because she couldn't control the gills that were sprouting out of her skin?" He looked like he was on the verge of tears for a second before he shook his head violently. "And where was your money when that poor kid with the snake tounge got pulled out of an alley way and taken off by some black-ops about a year ago." He was panting heavily and his face was tinged red.

Warren took a controlled breath.

"I would think you understand the dismay of not being able to everywhere at once." He had heard of the girl- they didn't know her. But he knew the boy was safe- the Professor had rescued Arty and he was now living safely at the mansion. A fact he could hardly disclose.

Roger got up abruptly and put a hand on Collins back. "Come on man, let's go back to the loft---" he said, trying to push Collins towards the door, "Mr. Worthington, it was nice meeting you---Mimi, tell Joanne I'm sorry we left her with the bill again and tell Mark---nevermind." Roger apparently knew how to take advantages of emotional parts in Collins' rants, and managed to drag him out the door with a few distracting comments.

A little hurt at Collin's accusation, and frustrated with his need to stay silent, Worthington silently pulled his wallet out from an inner pocket of his coat, pulling out what he assumed would be more than enough to cover their bill, placed it silently on the table and walked back out the front door to wait by the limo.

After waiting a moment, leaning against the car, Warren opened the door and sat down. Arthur looked questioningly back, one eyebrow raised.

"Things didn't go as planned?" He asked. Warren scoffed.

"Not exactly. Let's just say that Mark has some...opinionated friends." Arthur noticed the slightly weary tone in his voice, and hit the button half-hidden under the dashboard. The normally tinted windows of he back of the limo darkened completely. Warren sighed in relief, unbuttoning his coat and suit jacket and letting them drape over the seat beside him.

The air conditioning turned on in the back, and Warren leaned forwards on the seat, head in his hands, arms resting on his knees. A glance in the rear view mirror confirmed Arthur's suspicions that Warren was starting to get uncomfortably stiff under his restraints. The chauffeur grimaced as there was a noticeable ripple through Warren's folded wings, and the young man let out a small hiss.

"Back to your office, sir?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, thank you Arthur. I think it's best if I just go home," Warren replied without taking his head from his hands. Arthur nodded and slowly pulled the car onto the road.

Mark and Joanne reentered the Life from the back a few minutes later, and immeadiatly noticed that Collins, Worthington and Roger were all gone.

"I didn't hear any ambulances..." Joanne said hesitantly. "I don't think they killed him."

But Mark really wasn't listening to her, he was staring at the the large pile of bills between Mimi and Maureen who were chatting softly.

"What happened?" he asked, crossing the rest of the space between them and the table. "Did he just leave?"

"Collins was---on his soapbox," Mimi said hesitantly, picking at the money, "and he was going on and on until Worthington looked like he was going to hit him."

"He was going to!" Maureen insisted. "And then Collins was talking about these poor kids who were taken away, and pookie, it sounds horrible!" She said, flustered. "I should do a protest about it!"

"Not now, Maureen," Joanne hissed as she joined them. "Where'd they all go?"

"Roger dragged Collins out and Worthington just---left." Mimi finished. "Look, the limo's gone."

"SHIT!" Mark said, and the girls all looked at him, taken aback that he'd sworn. "I really wanted this!" He insisted, pacing a little. "The chance to make a difference, and to make money!"

"Go after him." Mimi coaxed. "It's not your fault, you can't control Collins."

Mark furrowed his brow. "No, I'm not just going to go back there, crawling and apologizing, I've got a better idea..." He grabbed his scarf and camera bag and headed out the door without another word.

Arthur drove in silence back to Warren's house, gently stopping the car when they arrived. Formerly his parent's mansion, Warren had continued to live alone after his father had moved with Warren's mother to a place closer to the city. He had been told it was for business purposes, but after they moved Warren's mother hadn't seen him once. Arthur and a few other house staff had stayed with the young man, and unbeknownst to his father all of them knew of his mutation, as Warren frequently used the expansive property and isolation to his advantage.

As he left the limo, Warren slipped only his coat back on, keeping it closed with his hands in his pockets as he stepped out and strode up the marble steps. Arthur watched to make sure he didn't trip or pass out on his way up, then pulled the limousine around the side of the house.

Quickly making his way to his bedroom, Warren shed his oxford shirt and tie, draping them and his coat over the bed. Unhooking the black buckles around his ribs, Warren carefully removed his harness and hung it on the hooks on the wall. He couldn't help a low sigh of relief as his wings unfolded, draping around his shoulders.

After parking, Arthur made his way to where he knew Warren would be 'freeing' himself, and hovered in the hallway just outside the open door of the bedroom.

"Remind me to book the more comfortable board room next time I have an interview," Warren murmured, once again reminding Arthur of the additional keen senses that came with Warren's mutation. Chuckling, he stepped into the room.

"Yes, sir," he assured as Warren stretched his neck, rolling it on his shoulders. "Will you be back for dinner, sir?" Arthur asked as Warren straightened and stepped towards the bay window backing onto the acres of his family's property. Getting no more than a nod, Arthur gave a bow of his head and went to report to the kitchens as Warren unlocked the windows. With a half-step out onto the small balcony, Warren unfurled his wings and launched into the air with a single beat, toes barely touching the balcony railing as he dove off.


	6. Idle Chats

**a/n: right, so. I'm a terrible person, I need to be lynched, but don't hate me forever because the next five chapters are drafted and just need to be edited and posted.**

** Wow, it's been aaaages since I've been on here, sorry guys. Life caught up with me, and I started working (gasp!). Like, in a five-day-a-week-9-5-job. Scary. **

** Enjoy! Reviews are my crack!  
**

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The phone rings once before a woman who sounds like a cartoon character picks up.

"Buzzline, Alexi Darling speaking!"

"Hello, it's Warren Worthington."

It's surprising how quickly silence descends over the line when he says that.

"Mr. Worthington?" Alexi squeaked slightly, taken completely by surprise.

"Yes." He replied calmly, and Alexi seemed to find her tongue again.

"Hello! Was there something wrong with the interview- I told Mark not to cut it like that, I thought there should be some different things, but you know Mark! Never listens! After all-"

"No, there was nothing wrong with it." Warren interrupted for the sake of his ears, and his sanity. "Actually, I was wondering if I could speak to Mark."

Alexi sounded like she'd choked on her tongue.

"Mark?"

"Yes."

"Oh- well, no, he's not here. I can try and dig his home number up from-"

"No, thank you" Warren interrupted again. "Can you just ask him to call me about our contract when he gets in? Tell him I was very impressed."

"Contract? He didn't say anything about a contract-"

"Well, he wouldn't have, it's confidential."

"Oh. Well, Mark is still under contract with Buzzline for-"

"I am aware of that." The finality in Warren's tone seemed to keep her quiet. He decided to get out before she got her voice back. "Just pass the message on, he'll know what I'm referring to. Thank you." He said curtly and hung up. Leaning back in his office chair, fingers touching in front of him, Warren smiled to himself, hitting rewind on the remote in front of him to watch the interview again. He was glad everything seemed to have come back together. The footage was quite impressive, and he would have his documentary made by capable hands.

Picking up the phone again, he dialed the mansion to talk to Jean.

----

Kitty had been sitting by the television in the den, watching the interview over and over again since it had aired. People had been in and out, curious to see what has caused so much commotion. She was rewinding the tape for the third or fourth time, trying to figure out what had been cut, when the phone rang. Reaching her hand out to pick it up, she answered it, eyes never leaving the screen.

"Xavier Insitute." She intoned, knowing if anyone was calling this number that they knew who they were calling, but one could never be too careful.

"Kitty?" Warren guessed. With the kids growing up, they were all starting to sound different, and slightly similar. She replied with a cheery hello, so he continued.

"How is everything? Jean was telling me you've all been doing a media study lately- Is it going well?" He missed talking to the kids, and missed being able to walk around the mansion with his wings out, and have more people try and tickle them than stare in shock.

"Well it wasn't until your interview!" Kitty squealed. It was a little strange seeing Warren on T.V. and talking to him at the same time. "How much did you pay Buzzline to put a positive spin on Mutants? Oh, and when are you coming for another visit, I know you're really busy, but all us kids miss you."

Warren looked down at his lap, feeling a lump form in his throat.

"Actually, I didn't pay them anything," he muttered, unsure if he was offended or embaressed Kitty would think that.

"I'd like to come soon, I should have some time over the next week," he offered, glad to hear they missed him too. Glancing up at the door, he checked to make sure no businessmen were lurking to hear his conversation with a squealing girl.

"Who saw the interview?"

"You didn't?" Kitty said surprised, without giving him the chance to reply. "Oh My God! It's so great! You should totally do more interviews with them!" She paused the interview and rolled her shoulders, tense from sitting so long. "Um, I dunno..." she said hesitantly. "Jean saw it, and the Professor. I think Hank and Scott were going to take a look at it. All the kids doing the media project saw it, Ro sat us all down to deconstruct it and stuff...why?" She smiled to herself, glad that Warren was coming for a visit soon. They were always exciting, and it was refreshing to see another adult that didn't double as thier teacher.

"I'll have to see what they thought." Warren smiled, Kitty's excitement refreshing. "I'm glad to hear everything's going well. If I have time later today I'll drop by, alright? But I have to be back for a possible meeting tomorrow. I have exciting news."

"Today?" Kitty shrieked. She bounced up and down on the couch a couple of times, a smile growing on her face. "News? Come on Warren, can't you tell me the news now, I promise I won't tell anyone else," she wheedled. She wanted to know now...Kitty was horrible with waiting. Had he found something new out with his research? No, that was impossible, Hank and Jean were working on the same study, anything he knew they would know as well...

"Really, I swear I won't say a word, just tell me."

Warren's smile widened. He could picture Kitty bouncing up and down on the couch excitedly.

"I'll be over in a few hours, Kitty. You'll find out then. Goodbye..." He elongated the last word teasingly, not actually intending on hanging up yet.

"Wait!" Kitty cried in the phone. "Come on Warren," she whined. "Just a little hint. "Is it something for the mansion?" Glancing out the window, she saw the sun was setting outside and most of the younger children were finishing dinner and winding down for bed. "How late are you going to get here, jeeze, everyone I'll be asleep--" Unless-- "Is it something us kids can't see?"

Warren glanced at the clock. He hadn't realized it was already bordering on eight o'clock. The day had flown by- absolutely no pun intended.

"Sort of- You'll be able to see it eventually. And I suppose you can always hear at the breakfast table if you have to go to bed before I get there," he jested. "But it is most definately something for the mansion- something I hope will be very good for it.

"Hey!" Kitty said indignantly. "I didn't say I was going to bed." She thought about what else he'd said. Whatever it was, it obviously wasn't going to materialize right away. "Is it a new wing?" She asked hesitantly. She knew the professor had spoken recently of the evergrowing mutant popultion, especially between the ages of 12 and 19, and Warren was always practical with his gifts.

"No, although that would make an excellent Christmas present..." He mused. "Unfortunatly, it's nothing that direct for the mansion. More for it's inhabitants- and don't get too excited, it's nothing you get to keep." He added, trying to dissuade Kitty's excitement about a 'gift', in the technical sense. He hoped they would be as excited about this as he would- Hearing a knock on the door, Warren quickly turned his attention back to the phone.

"Kitty- I've got to go, business calls. See you in a few hours?"

"Alright, see you in a few hours." She said dejectedly, still wondering just what he could possibly be bringing. "Should I tell the Professor you're coming, or is that a surprise too?"

"No, you can tell him. See you then Kitty- goodbye." Hanging up, he turned to face the figure in the doorway, mentally cringing at the suited figure. Deciding he didn't want to deal with this, he stood, gathering a few papers on his desk into a pile.

"Father- Hello. I was just leaving."

"Warren." The young Worthington looked up questioningly, face a picture of naive innocence masked in stone as he moved to the door. His father raised an eyebrow- the eyebrow Warren knew well- and Warren braced himself for a lecture. Perhaps he wouldn't make it to the mansion before the hellish hours of the morning after all.


End file.
